The Dragon's Fire
by Tib Dunncan
Summary: There was a legend of a merciless Witch who made a deal with Loki. She was feared and loathed on the Isle of Berk... yet she also held a power that ultimately changed Hiccup's life.
1. Chapter 1

"Ouch," Hiccup moaned softly, picking himself up out of the grass. Guess he still had a little work to do on the hammer swing he'd made. He turned slowly to see if anyone had happened to be around to see the massive stone hammer hit him square in the chest and knock him backwards. A pit grew in his stomach when a Monstrous Nightmare clambered over a pile of rubble nearby.

The beast gave a terrific roar that did its name justice. The young Viking wasted no time in taking to his heels – as best he could, at least. All the rubble on the ground made it difficult for him to move forward; the ground – charred bits of roof and nets – kept slipping out from under his feet as he ran. It was lucky for him that the dragon seemed a little put off by all the screaming and hollering he was doing. Leave it to me, he thought, to be found by a dragon in the one part of the island where I'm alone. He was hoping that the screaming and hollering would attract the attention of another Viking.

Stoick the Vast secured the last knot on the net, trapped under which were a handful of dragons that had almost made a meal of the village's shearing sheep.

An extremely familiar scream hit his ears, and sure enough, on the horizon, he could see Hiccup running back to Gobber's shop – with a Monstrous Nightmare on his heels. Stoick sighed heavily, then turned to his fellow Vikings. "Take care of them!" He pointed to the trapped dragons as he turned on his heels in a run towards the boy. The man ducked down to grab a set of bolas – at the rate the beast was gaining on his son, he'd need them to attack from a distance.

Hiccup staggered in the rubble he was climbing over. He could see the shop on the horizon line. He just had to keep going and he'd be home free before he knew –

Hiccup's ankles interlocked, sending him pitching forward to the dirt. He never hit the ground, however. Something had caught him and hauled him to his feet. Correction, he thought, something had caught him and hauled him _off_ of his feet. He was vaguely aware of the giant talons that were wrapped around his upper arms, transfixed on how he was being lifted further and further off of safe ground. Wildly, he looked up to face the jaws of the dragon that had just begun carrying him off like a sheep.

Hiccup flailed and twisted, realizing two things about his efforts: it was useless. The dragon had too great a grip on him. But also, it was dangerous. Hiccup's foot had just scraped against the roof of the Mead Hall. He was more than four stories into the air. If he fell now, it would mean certain death.

Against the wind, he could hear his father's voice in the distance. "No! Not my son, you Devil!" he bellowed

Stoick hurled the grappling stones at the beast that was making off with Hiccup, aiming directly for its neck. By this point, Hiccup had screwed his eyes shut as tightly as possible, preparing for the stomach-churning drop that would occur after the stones hit the dragon. If Hiccup had been watching, he would have seen the stones flying towards the pair. If he'd been watching, he would have seen the roof of the Food Hall disappear from underneath his feet as the dragon gave one great swoop upward. If Hiccup had been watching, he would have known that he should have lifted his legs to avoid the grappling stones from hitting him. But Hiccup wasn't watching, not until he felt the stone hit his leg, felt the sharp crack and the searing pain as his leg broke. The boy gave a shout of pain that was drowned out by the dragon's final roar of triumph as it swopped downward, past the cliff that housed the Village.

Stoick watched as the dragon's tail disappeared over the cliff.

He'd missed. He'd missed, and Hiccup was gone.

Sorry its so short! D:


	2. Chapter 2

With every turn and drop the dragon made in its flight, Hiccup had to endure a surge of pain. As they soared onto open water, far from the island of Berk, Hiccup's imagination ran away with his senses. In his sixteen years of life as a Viking, he'd seen plenty of dragon attacks. Plenty of Vikings eaten by dragons. They don't take time, they just… gobble you down before they attack the next man. Hiccup could only wonder why this dragon hadn't already killed him, and it only made his situation darker.

Stoick clambered back into the Mead Hall.

Gobber sat at one of the long wooden tables with an ale mug attached to his arm. "Leave it to Hiccup to nearly get `imself eaten by a dragon." He said. "Where is the boy, anyway? Thought he'd be back to the shop, by now."

Stoick faced his friend, a frown hidden behind his great beard. Gobber realized something was wrong. He hadn't seen Stoick look like this since he'd lost his wife…

"No," he whispered, shocked and solemn. "He can't-"

Stoick shook his head. "He's gone." He said. It was not in the chief's nature to be soft spoken, but when he said this, it was the softest he'd ever spoken.

Suddenly, the man brought a great fist down on the polished wooden table that Gobber sat at. "I TOLD HIM TO STAY INSIDE." He bellowed. "I KNEW HE WAS GOING TO BE HURT."

Hiccup winced in pain. He was hurt. His leg was still very much broken, and the burning sensation that had settled itself there had spread up his thigh. But when he opened his eyes, he could see a small island – Smaller than Berk, even. He knew this had to be the exile island. His father had told him it was a four day's trip, but that was by boat. This dragon had flown them there in the matter of a day.

They swooped over the trees, then into them, zig zagging through the wooded area and sending a new pain through Hiccup's body with every turn.

The dragon flew them inland over a sandy river bank, lower and lower with every second. This was the lowest they'd been since take off. Unexpectedly, the beast dropped Hiccup onto the sand, where he tumbled and coughed, grasping at his broken leg with fingers that had long since gone numb.

There was another, duller pain in his back as he was slammed against the sand. Hiccup gasped as he looked up at the dragon who had pinned him down between his talons.

The beast's jaws opened and closed. "Odin…" Hiccup gasped. He turned his head, trying to put some distance between himself and the monstrous jaws.

The beast opened its jaws and brought them down, closing them around his head. Hiccup could feel the dragon's hot breath on his face – an unpleasant mixture of sulfur and death.

The boy did the only thing he could in his position: he began shouting a final prayer to the Gods.

The beast didn't move. The only sound was a deep growling coming from the back of the dragon's throat, which was drowned out by the sound of Hiccup's heart pounding in his own ears. He wasn't sure what he was going to die of first: decapitation, as he became the dragon's supper, a heart attack cause by fear or suffocation by dragon's breath.

Still, it didn't move. Occasionally, the jaws would slacken ever so slightly, but they'd quickly close in on him again, as if the dragon suddenly realized what it was doing.

The talons that held him firmly to the ground, he realized, were also closing tighter around him, until there was a sharp pain and a ripping sound as one of the beast's claws ripped clean through his tunic, leaving a wide gash on his shoulder. Hiccup didn't care much about the cut. Heck, if he got out of this, he'd be happy to swim back to Berk with his broken leg… he'd probably die of hypothermia before he even got a couple of hundred yards off shore, but that sure beats being eaten by a Monstrous Nightmare.

Hiccup coughed to the side. He tried to take a deep breath and coughed again. Well, at least he knew how he was going to die. The young boy could see a thick green gas pouring out from the back of the dragon's throat. Char grilled Viking it was.

But no spark came to ignite the gas that was steadily pouring over the boy's face. The thing gave an immense roar that should have left the poor boy deaf, and then even more miraculously, it pulled back, fully releasing him from its jaws.

The thing picked the boy up in one giant claw and lifted him off the ground before dropping him. Hiccup scrambled to right himself as he watched the dragon lumber over to across the bank and curl itself up in the sun.

That, he decided, was the single most terrifying moment of his life. He took a sweeping look around him. The dragon just lay there, eyeing the boy greedily, like how Fiddlesticks sometimes watched birds that sat on the other side of a closed window. Hiccup wondered why the brute hadn't just torn him to shreds, as was his obvious plan in the first place. (Not to say he wasn't grateful to still be alive.)

Well, it would have to wait until he figured out where he was and how to get back to Berk. Hiccup started off in the general direction of the way they'd come, but took one step and fell back down into the sand. A broken leg wasn't going to let him get very far very fast. Still, he wanted to put as much distance as possible between him and the dragon that still looked like it wanted to have him as its next meal. Shakily, he stood back up and rested his weight on his good leg. This was going to be quite a challenge.

Suddenly, the dragon stood back up and came straight for Hiccup again. Startled, he fell to the sand a third time and attempted to shuffle away from the beast. Hiccup obviously didn't move fast enough, because all it took was for the creature to reach out a wing and lay his talon down on Hiccup's broken leg. The weight of its talons put immense pressure on Hiccup's leg, and sent a new surge of pain through him. This thing was playing with him like Fiddlesticks plays with the mice in his father's bedroom. Hiccup's cat will chase them, bat them around for a while, and then almost let them get away before starting the cycle over until he was bored with that particular mouse. Then he bites them in half.

Hiccup did not want to be the mouse.

He gritted his teeth in pain. If he upset the break much more, it was never going to heal properly.

"No!"

The voice, though it spoke Hiccup's mind, was not his.

"Release."

It growled, lifting its claw off of his leg. The monster grabbed the back of his tunic and hauled him to a standing position.

"You? You're a Viking from the Island of Berk?" the voice called. It echoed off the trees and was carried by the river so it seemed like it came from no one particular place.

"I-I am." Hiccup announced, uncertainly. "I'm… I'm Hiccup, I-"

It laughed; the boy frowned.

"You! Many an exiled Viking have come to these islands, and all have told me of the village nuisance. Hiccup the Useless, they call you!" more laughter.

"Thank you, for the boost in my self-worth. Are there other Berk Vikings here?"

"No." she said, briskly

"Well, where'd they go? What happened to them?"

"Razorfang ate them." The voice said, simply.

Hiccup dared a half-glance at the monster that still watched him as if it were about to pounce and swallow him whole.

"I'm guessing that's Razorfang."

"Quite."

Hiccup looked around the clearing for any movement indicating the voice's origins. Eventually, he simply gave up.

"Where are you?" he called, aimlessly.

"Here." The voice was soft and lacking all the maliciousness it had previously held. But what startled him the most was that the voice was right behind him. He turned as well as he could without falling over or hurting himself, and found he was facing a woman. She was draped in dark blue robes, the hood pulled up over her head. But even with the hood obscuring most of her face, he could still see the bright orange eyes, like two little orbs of dragon's fire, burning a hole into his very being.

With a sinking feeling, he suddenly knew exactly who she was.

"Mathalda." He breathed.


	3. Chapter 3

A smile curved her lips. "I assume they still tell stories of me on Berk." Her voice was more direct at this. "No doubt you yourself have been told of me as a bedtime story in your youth."

"Every night." His voice didn't dare to rise above a whisper in her presence.

Razorfang gave a disapproving growl from his spot in the sun. Hiccup glanced nervously at the dragon for a fraction of a second. To be brutally honest, he was more afraid of Mathalda than he was the dragon.

"Wh-why are you letting me live?" he asked. Mathalda was known for her merciless evil and her hate for anyone from Berk.

Her fiery eyes grew wide behind the shadow of the hood. "Do you want me to grant Razorfang his supper?"

"No," he said quickly. "I'm just…"

"Lucky that Razorfang decided to bring his food home with him, or else you'd have been long devoured." She snapped. "Now, what's this about being in pain? What're you doing with your leg?" Mathalda kneeled down and looked at his injured leg before taking the broken spot in both her hands and putting as much pressure on it as possible.

Hiccup grunted at the pain. And here he thought Mathalda had spared him for a greater purpose than to inflict as much pain on him as possible. The whole of his leg suddenly felt as if it were on fire, then as if it were encased in ice. She let go and stood up. Hiccup didn't dare place any of his weight, meager as it might be, on his broken leg. After that little trick, it would probably shoot pain through his whole body.

She looked at him for a moment and gave him a slight push at the shoulders. Standing on one foot, he lost balance and staggered backwards.

"That's better." She said approvingly.

Hiccup was dumbfounded. She'd just righted his leg. Mathalda has just righted his broken leg.

He'd been told of her powers; she'd been a doctor on Berk for as long as anyone could remember, and she'd helped many – Before she was exiled for failing to heal one particular patient. Now, it was the traditional 'four month splint or amputation' system. The stories he'd been told of her, they detailed her great power to heal. But they also told of the hate and the maliciousness that accompanied her, all from making a deal with Loki for power. For revenge.

"Y-you're not going to… feed me to your dragon, or offer my blood as a sacrifice?" he asked, half-limping after her.

"That depends. Are you here for my head as an offering to your great tribe leader, praying he'll take you back if you bring him the remains of the witch who escaped him nearly fourteen years ago?"

"No. Your pet dragon just tried to make a meal of me, is all."

"Then no. You bring no threat, why do harm to you?" she said. "As a matter of fact, why don't you come back to my home, and we can begin to figure out how to get you back to Berk? You certainly don't belong here. And I apologize for Razorfang picking you as his next meal. Do tell me, how exactly did you come across him?"

Mathalda set off, following the river upstream. Hiccup followed her, explaining how he found himself on Cannibal Isle. This was pure madness (which Mathalda was known to be wonderful at curing.). He was following Berk's most feared outcast, alone, to her home. No one knew he was here. Everyone on Berk probably thought he was dead, so no one would even think to come looking for him, and even if they did, it wouldn't be here.

He stopped.

Mathalda looked back. "Aren't you coming?" she asked.

Hiccup didn't say anything. He didn't move, and he didn't look her in the eye. Story has it that, if Mathalda is angry with you, one look into her eyes and you slowly burn from the inside out. It was a powerful gift from Loki to help her achieve her revenge.

She sighed. "You can either come with me, or you can stay here. With Razorfang." Hiccup turned his head slightly, to see the dragon pick up its head in interest. Perhaps it thought that it would get its supper after all. "Either way, you need to make up your mind quickly. I left the fire burning in my house which is, by the way, very flammable." She turned from him. "Besides. Viking or not, I'm the only one who's going to offer help. If Razorfang took you from Berk, the others must think you dead, so it's not likely they're going to come searching for you. And with a four day's trip across The Inner Ocean, you'll never make it home alive on your own."

Hiccup groaned inwardly; she was right.

"Well, then. Come on."

Hiccup took one step and she smiled, resuming the walk, trusting enough, apparently, that Hiccup would follow.

"You certainly are a cautious fellow, aren't you?"

"I'm alone with Mathalda the Witch." He said, pointedly. "Caution seems prudent."

"Yes, well, I thought we were clear on the matter when I told you it would do me no good to hurt you. Razorfang is far behind us and, at the moment, he's the only one looking to deal you any damage."

"I don't understand, though." Hiccup said. "Since before I can remember, people have been telling me bonfire stories about you, how you made a deal with Loki to obtain the revenge for being driven out of the Tribe. But you only kill the Vikings who are looking to kill you? None of it's true?"

"No, no. It's true." She said darkly. "I did, in fact, make sacral offerings to Loki for the immense power to retaliate, which I was granted. The stories you've heard about my departure, I am to assume, are generally true. But there's only one Viking I want my revenge on."

Hiccup walked a little faster to catch up with her. She spoke in hushed tones and it was difficult to hear her from so far behind. Still, he kept a safe distance. "Who's that?"

"Your great Tribe leader, Stoick the Vast." She snarled. "It is because of his ignorance that I am here on Cannibal Isle to this very day."

Hiccup could feel the pit return to his chest. If she was looking to maim his father, she was most likely, by extension, more than willing to take his life as well. He staggered a few paces further behind. "Wh-why's… Why's that?" he choked.

"What do you know of my story?" she asked, lightly. It was so unnerving, how she could be so angry, and hide it so well.

"Only what I remember from when I was little. My dad…" he hesitated, unsure if it was wise to even mention his father. "… used to tell me. You were a great healer-"

"—I still am."

"…Are. A doctor on Berk, and you healed anyone who came to you. Your magic was… is… the strongest Berk has ever seen. One day, someone came to you in great need, and you refused to help them. You left them to die."

" INCORRECT!" She shrieked, turning wildly to face him. "The woman was dying of the strain of childbirth. When she was brought to me, Death was already at the foot of her bed. There was nothing I could have done. But Stoick the Vast would have none of it. Do you know what his exact words were to me? He said, 'I know your power. Heal her, or it will be your blood that is paid.' It did not matter, his death threats on me. It did not matter how much hate was in his heart, because nothing, not even my magic, could have saved the life of his precious Valhallarama."


	4. Chapter 4

Hiccup very suddenly couldn't breathe. The woman was dying of childbirth…

"Mom?" he managed.

"What was that?" Mathalda turned back to face the boy. Hiccup hadn't even realized that he had said anything out loud.

"Valhallarama?" he asked lamely.

"The Brute's wife. She died bearing her only son. He, unfortunately, survived." The boy could swear he heard her growl. "That was nearly fourteen years ago. Come to think of it, you seem to be about the devil's age." She looked him over, her orange eyes roving over the boy's entire figure.

Hiccup swallowed hard, his heard pounding in his chest. This, he felt, must be the part where he dies.

Mathalda squinted at him, moving a step or two closer. Hiccup dared not move so much as a muscle.

"Do you know the child?"

Stiffly, he nodded.

"What's its name?" she snarled.

Hiccup took a deep breath. "The… the kid's name? Uhm… Snotlout."

She straightened. "Good. You may yet prove to be Useful, contrary to what the other Vikings seem to think."

Hiccup thanked the Gods that he seemed to be in her good books. If he could stay there, he might just survive long enough to get back to Berk.

"Look," she said, very suddenly, making him jump. "There's my home. Come on in and we'll get you cleaned up and figure out how to get you back."

Hiccup looked over a couple of bushes nearby and saw that there was in fact a small house hidden behind the brush. "You live there?" he asked as they approached it further. The entire thing was made of one giant, hollowed out oak tree. There was no door, just a large cloth made of weaved vines. Inside, there was little standing room, as most of it was up-grown roots.

"It's not much, but it's home." She shrugged. "Here, sit."

It was immensely surreal. Hiccup was just invited into Mathalda's home. He was completely intact, and, furthermore, she seemed to like him – at least enough to not try to spill his blood. That is, provided she didn't find out who he really was.

He sat down on the bound heap of dried leaves and grass. It was because of his family that she was in such seclusion. Besides the evil vengeance she sought, she seemed a very kind witch.

"So, wow. Fourteen years, you've been out here, on your own."

"Oh, it's not as lonely as you might think. I have Razorfang, after all." She smiled at him. "Of course, you Vikings detest dragons."

"Yeah, I wanted to ask you. How do you manage to, you know, not get eaten?"

The woman sat across from Hiccup and handed him a small cup that seemed to be made out of a shell. He looked at the strong smelling liquid that was inside. "Drink it. It'll calm your nerves." She said. "How do I not get eaten? I've already answered that question, if you recall: You pose no threat to me, thus, I find no reason to kill you. Likewise for Razorfang and myself. It's a philosophy, I promise you, I will uphold. What that means for you, however, is entirely up to you." He took a sip and nearly choked on it. She was reaching for her hood!

Another little nasty part of the legend of Mathalda was that, in her deal with Loki, it was that she had to exact her revenge within the year, or else he would change her, make her a horrible beast that could kill a man for fright with just a glance. Hiccup screwed his eyes shut, turning away from her. Somehow, he couldn't imagine her appearance being any more frightening than what he'd been through in the last twenty four hours. That being said, if it was worse than the last day, he certainly did not want to see it.

"What're you doing? I know it's strong, but you look like you were just run through with a spear." She laughed.

"I just happen to like living, is all."

"What the Vikings have told me about you is true, Hiccup. You certainly are odd."

Gingerly, he opened an eye and looked sideways at her. What he saw shocked him beyond words. There were no horns, no extra eyes or spikes, or even a single scale. Instead, a long blonde braid uncurled itself from inside the hood.

"That's it?" he asked, blankly.

"That's what?"

"You're not some, half-demon beast?"

Mathalda shook her head. "Of all the ridiculous ideas, is that what they spilled into your head back on Berk?"

The boy took a deep breath and another sip of the broth. "How am I getting back?" he asked, finally. "I – I can't ride that thing. It'll swallow me whole before we get halfway there. There's no boat-"

"You do a lot of assuming," the witch said. "How do you suppose I got to this island?"

"Uhm…"

"Before half the village could come after me with their axes and torches, I stole a boat off the harbor and sailed my way here."

"N-no. They torched the boat."

"They tried." She corrected. "They even ended up torching the one I was on, from the shore. If I hadn't been able to put it out, I reckon I would have either burnt to death or drowned. Like the house, it's not the best boat, but it'll at least get you back to Berk."

"I can't man a ship by myself! I've never sailed over more than a creek!"

She sighed. "I certainly can't come with you. I already escaped death on Berk once. Odin knows my magic isn't what it used to be. It'd be a miracle if I could get off that island again."

"And I won't make it back by myself." He emphasized. "Once we get back to Berk, I could try to talk to my d- chief and smooth things over. I mean, it's not like you actually killed her. He was just grief-ridden. I'm sure he'd forgotten about it by now."

She looked at him, and he was certain – less certain than he was before, but still certain – that her eyes were going to make him combust at any moment. He was pushing it too far. He opened his mouth to surrender, but she shushed him with the wave of a hand.

"I get it. You win. We set off for Berk tomorrow. We can take the boat or Razorfang. If we take the dragon, we'll get there faster."

"If we take the boat, there's less of a chance I'll be eaten."

"It's your call. But for now, you ought to rest. That's pretty much the softest thing here," she said, gesturing to the bundle that Hiccup sat on. "I have to go make up for Razorfang's lost supper." She pulled her hood back up as she headed out the door.

Not having slept since the beginning of the dragon raid from the morning before, it was quite easy to fall asleep in the warm tree-house. Especially since neither Razorfang nor Mathalda were anywhere near him.

The sleep was fitful and light, but a welcomed one.


	5. Chapter 5

"Wake up, Hiccup! Wake up, or I might just set off for Berk without you!" she joked, pushing him nearly off of the bundle.

"You're ready?" he asked, confused, rubbing the shoulder that Razorfang had injured and finding the skin smooth and unscarred. Had Mathalda done that in his sleep?

"All set, boat's already on the beach. All we need to do is get on it and push off."

Hiccup followed her to the beach, silently. He truly, sincerely hoped that his father would understand that it wasn't Mathalda's fault Hiccup's mother was dead. If he did, Mathalda might forget about her thirst for revenge, and she could come and live back on Berk.

The beach was a long desolate stretch of sand with jagged rocks scattered here and there, and a Monstrous Nightmare perched atop the one piece of wood on the entire beach: the boat.

It lowered its head to Hiccup's level. Mathalda smiled, though Hiccup wasn't as amused.

"Uhm…"

"No, Razorfang, he is not a snack." She turned to the boy. "I don't doubt there will be other dragons in the skies during our trip. If Razorfang doesn't come with us, we may very well find ourselves as a snack for those may meet along the way. Razorfang can protect us, and will be greatly rewarded when the journey is over." She told the dragon. It nodded solemnly, telling her it understood. She looked next at the young Viking boy. "Well, then: we're off!"

With a flap of the wings, Razorfang lifted the boat off the shore and into the water, where the sails caught the wind, speeding them back to Berk.

"So tell me, Hiccup the Useless," She said. He cringed at the name. "about your life back on the Tribe land."

"Oh, you know…" he started, "apprentice in a welding shop. Generally hated through the whole village. A normal life." He shrugged. He failed to mention, however, that he was Stoick's son – for good reason.

"Sounds, uhm… pleasant…"

"Not much, but it's home." He laughed nervously.

The rest of the journey was spend in almost complete silence, with the occasional commentary from Hiccup as he pointed out some rock formation or another, or a dragon that was seen flying above them, until, finally, Berk appeared as a small speck on the horizon. Hiccup nearly tipped himself over the bow of the boat in excitement.

"Wait, what's this?" Mathalda tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to another boat that was drifting their way. It was a small, quiet boat, with one lonely sail dragging it along the calm, lapping waters of the ocean. It wasn't flying any colors, but nailed to the mast, Hiccup could see, was one shield. He squinted, trying to see the piece better. With a sort of a sinking feeling, he realized that it was his.

"I think I know." He said, quietly. There was a small clatter as an arrow soared through the air and landed in the small boat, which quickly caught fire. Before very long, the entire craft was engulfed in flames.

"It's a funeral."

"My funeral. They all think I'm dead, remember?"

They two watched the boat as it sunk under the influence of the flames. It was a stunning, terrible sight, to see one's own funeral, Hiccup thought. And yet, their own boat sailed closer and closer to Berk. Soon, the docks were visible. And on the docks, all standing in such a hush you could hear a pin drop, was the whole of the village, with Stoick standing in the front, his helmet held at his side, his head bowed.

"Hated throughout the village, eh?" Mathalda asked, quietly.

It was almost like being in a trance, watching the funeral procession. Upon speaking, Mathalda had snapped him out of it, and without much more hesitation, Hiccup started making more of a clamor than he had when Razorfang had taken him from Berk.

Gobber was the first one to look up, no doubt angry at whoever had decided to so rudely interrupt a Viking procession. When he saw the boat sailing towards the harbor, he tapped Stoick on the arm. Stoick looked up and dropped his helmet, and after that, the whole village was watching the small, tattered boat make its way, slowly but surely, back to Berk.

"I've kept up my end of the deal. You'd best hope Stoick the Vast has his wits about him and is reasonable." She whispered as several men pulled the boat to dock.

"I will make sure," Hiccup told her sternly, "that you're completely pardoned from any misunderstandings. But there's something… something you really ought to know before we—"

"Hiccup!" The huge man, chief of the Tribe, came bounding down the dock towards the young Viking.

"Oh, boy." He moaned. Mathalda seemed to shrink to the back of the boat, her hood up once more.

"Hiccup, I can't believe you're alive!" he embraced his son.

For now, he thought. It didn't take long for Stoick to notice the figure still sitting in the boat. "Hiccup, who's that?" he asked.

"Yeah. Uhm, about that… I really need you to hear me out. After all, she is the reason why I got back safe, uhm…"

The witch raised her face to the man. "This boy has promised me reconsiliation in return for safe passage back to your island."

There was no mistaking those eyes. "Mathalda," he turned back to his fellow Vikings, "Get down here and take this devil!" he ordered.

"No, dad, she's-"

"Dad? He's your father?" she shrieked. "You? Son of the chief?" Hiccup could see a mad glint in her eyes. The orange of her iris turned several shades brighter. She raised her arm to the sky and there was a terrific roar. He'd forgotten about Razorfang.

"Mathalda, don't!"

The dragon crashed down onto the boat with a terrible crack that shook the whole dock, soaking Hiccup and his father.

"_Razorfang, retrieve!_" she pointed wildly at Hiccup.

The dragon shot forward and scooped Hiccup up, the back of his tunic secure in the dragon's jaws.

"I do not agree with the situation!" he shouted. There was a sick feeling in his stomach as the dragon released him and he plummeted back down to the boat. With a swing of its tail, the dragon severed the boat from the dock and it drifted just far away enough to be out of reach. Mathalda hauled him to his feet; she held him to her and brought a small knife to his neck.

"Mathalda, listen to me, you don't have to do this-"

"Shut up," she hissed. "You lied, you filthy little beast, YOU are Valhallarama's surviving child!"

From the half-demolished dock, Stoick called out to Mathalda, all sorts of obscenities and death threats and curses. One of his men came up behind hm.

"Should we set fire to the ship?"

"No, if we burn the ship, Hiccup goes down with it. Nor can we board the ship. If Mathalda sees we're trying to attack, she'll kill him." And that was the last thing Stoick wanted.

"This is Mathalda we're talking about. She'll kill the boy no matter what we do." The two looked out at the boat.

"Mathalda, listen – this is why I didn't tell you in the first place," Hiccup said angrily. "Do you know what you're doing? You're killing any chance of reconciliation!"

"Shut up," she growled, pressing the blade harder against his throat. "What I lack in reconciliation I will have in revenge. Your father is going to pay for his crimes against me, and he will pay in _your_ blood."

"So, what happened to that 'no threat, no kill' thing?" he asked.

"You deceived me, you rotten little – I trusted you, and you led me straight into the devil's keep!" Mathalda was reaching hysteria.

Those words jolted Hiccup out of the delusion he'd been stuck in his whole life. Mathalda wasn't evil. She was hurt. She was hurt and lonely and she felt wronged, and all she had wanted was closure, whether it be in the form of retaliation or a second chance, Hiccup now knew, she didn't care. But now, above being hurt and lonely and hopeful for a new start, she felt betrayed.

"Is that what this is about? Mathalda, I didn't know my dad was going to-"

"Liar!" she yelled, loud enough for the men back on shore to hear. Then, and it shocked Hiccup at first – Mathalda removed the blade from his neck and pushed him away from her. He thought maybe, just maybe, they would be able to sort this out without anyone getting hurt, that she was coming to her senses about attempted murder. But he looked back at the witch; she was wilder than ever – pain and anger and hopelessness in her fiery eyes. She raised her arm once more and Hiccup looked to the skies to see the Monstrous Nightmare circling like a buzzard. When she spoke, her voice was silky; it was frightening. "Those monsters on shore gathered here today to mourn the death of Hiccup, who was killed by an extremely hungry dragon. Why disappoint them and waste a perfectly good boat?" she asked him. "_Razorfang! Supper!_" she shrieked.

"Mathalda, no! It'll capsize the boat!" he yelled over the terrible roar as Razorfang made a dive from his post in the sky. The beast collided with the small wooden structure with a great crash. There was a terrifying crack that shook the whole boat as the timbers broke. Hiccup didn't have very long to dwell on their situation, however, as it seemed that Razorfang hadn't forgotten about his lost supper.

The dragon snapped at him, its jaws coming within inches of Hiccup's leg as he jumped into the freezing waters of Berk's Inner Ocean, gasping in the ice water as he went under. There was fire above him, above surface, but he wasn't sure if it was Viking fire, or dragon fire. He held his breath as best he could and swam under water to the far end of the dock. He could feel his limbs stiffening with the cold, every stroke became more and more difficult, and it visibility became even worse than it had been in the first place.

The boy broke surface not on the other side of the harbor, as he'd planned, but on the underside of the dock, where he had a nice, safe view of the horrible scene unfolding in front of him. His extremities shook uncontrollably with cold.

Razorfang was still looking for his run away supper, but not neglecting the Vikings that were trying to bring the beast down. Hiccup saw his father hurl another set of grappling stones. They soared through the air and struck their target; the boy knew his father hadn't missed. The set wrapped itself around Mathalda's neck, jerking her sideways off of Razorfang's back. She hit the water struggling and disappearedunderneath the surface.

Hiccup watched for any sign of her breaking surface; when none came, he moaned inwardly and dove back under the water.

Bubbles assaulted him in waves, all rushing to the surface as if eager to see the tussle above. Hiccup pushed off of the post that held up the dock, propelling himself into the wreckage of the battle.

The stones dragged Mathalda further and further into the murky depths of the harbor. She couldn't disentangle herself from the bolas. He could see her writhe and twist underwater as the combination of strangulation and the water pressure on her body killed her. She was flailing in every direction, and Hiccup had to take care not to be kicked. He swam up to her and his fingers closed around her upper arm. She had gone limp. The Viking tore at the grappling set with his dagger, ripping through the ropes that linked the stones, which fell from Mathalda's neck and sank to the ocean floor along with the extra weight of the blade. Hiccup kicked his way to the surface, his limbs cold and sore. He felt so tired, and knew that was the effect of the ice water. There was no way he was going to make it back to the surface conscious... He was using all his remaining energy to support Mathalda's weight…

He gave up.


	6. Chapter 6

Stoick clubbed the dragon across the jaw before his eye caught something bobbing in the water not too far away. He stopped fighting, taking off in the direction of the floating body. Razorfang would have loved to chase after the Viking leader, but Stoick's fellows kept him nice and busy; they provided enough of a distraction for Stoick to be able to haul Hiccup out of the water and throw him onto the rocky shore of Berk. Something startled Stoick into pausing, though his son lay unconscious on the rocks: The boy's fingers were closed tightly around Mathalda's arm.

Very suddenly, the witch sputtered and coughed and bolted to a sitting position, wrenching her arm from the boy's grip. Stoick pushed her aside, exerting enough force on her small frame to send her sprawling forward onto the rocks. She watched as he searched for any sign of breath. There was a moment of silence only interrupted by the shouts and shrieks of the battle behind them.

Stoick straightened, laying his son down on the rocks. He pulled his dagger out of his belt. "May Odin help you," he hissed.

The witch's eyes darted between the young Viking and his father. "He's still alive," Mathalda said, shrilly, ignoring Stoick's immense presence and falling upon the boy herself. Stoick reacted quickly and pulled her off of him.

"Don't you dare touch him, you beast!" He shouted. Nonetheless, Mathalda struggled against the man's grip.

"He's still alive! Death has not stood at his feet, I can save him! Let me go!" she shrieked, but Stoick was unrelenting. She stopped. "Razorfang! Hold!" she screamed, the strain of the volume scratching at her throat.

The massive Dragon took to the skies to assist his caretaker, landing down behind Stoick and snatching the man up in its jaws. The chief put up quite a fight, but there was no way he could connect with the beast, and was obliged to watch as Mathalda once again dropped down to his side and put both her hands on his chest.

The witch concentrated on the boy who had just saved her life after she had almost taken his. After the first ten seconds, she couldn't hear the sounds of the rallying Vikings as they rushed towards her. After twenty second, she couldn't hear Stoick's shouts of rage, demanding she get away from his son. After thirty seconds, she could only hear whispers of the healing power, as spirits of the deceased breathed into Hiccup the life that he so desperately needed.

The boy was on the verge of death. Not even Unicorn blood could give him the strength he needed, now. But death still stood at his head. Every so often, Mathalda looked up at the bright light that obscured the northern part of the island. It was slowly moving down the boy's body as Hiccup became weaker and weaker.

The witch realized that she was wasting too much of her focus on the Death that was slowly enveloping the young Viking. She closed her eyes and relaxed her muscles. She took a deep breath, clearing her mind. She needed to take the chill out of him, so she put her hands around his throat. She didn't have time to wonder if it looked like she was trying to strangle him. She didn't have time to think; she just did.

Mathalda felt the warmth flow through his body, expelling the chill that alone could bring death. Puffs of steam rose from his skin and soaked clothing as her hands moved back to his chest, her trembling lips forming words. Her mind was flooded with the thought of the boy surviving.

The witch felt her hands grow cold and the faint beat of the boy's heart stopped entirely underneath her palms. She did not stop, she did not falter. He was not dead to Mathalda, for Death had only stopped his heart. Until Death stood at his feet, she could save him.

He needed strength. Stopping the chill wasn't enough. He needed his strength back. He needed power.

Mathalda leaned over the boy, her hands still pressed against his chest, until she was looking directly down at him. His green eyes stared sightlessly back into her orange eyes.

She felt her own heart give a protest at the cold. An unpleasant squirm in her core as she felt something was amiss.

Mathalda stared into his eyes as she slowly lifted one hand from his chest and laid it over her own heart. Her lips formed a Nordic prayer. Slowly, Hiccup's lifeless eyes glowed with the hue of a dragon's fire that seemed to flare up and then sink into his natural green. Had Hiccup been able to see Mathalda, he would have seen her eyes dulling, the infamous orange of her irises fading, giving way to a blue that rivaled the clearest of skies.

The whole of the village was watching the breathtaking sight no one thought they'd ever see again; even Stoick had ceased his struggling and had been let down by the dragon that was watching Mathalda as intently as Mathalda was watching Hiccup. It had been a part of daily life, to visit the witch to be healed. They'd come to her with broken limbs and pneumonia, and an assortment of other maladies. But never did they witness her bring a man back from the brink of death.

They watched as she crouched over him, their noses almost touching. She was staring so intently at the boy, her lips moving without sound, it almost looked like she had gone mad, but there was no mistaking her ritual.

Hiccup's body jerked convulsively as he took a shuddering gasp. Mathalda felt the cold leave his body as his muscles tensed. The light of Death shrank back.

Gently, she raised her head and laid it on his chest. She heard the soft intake of breath as his chest moved up and down.

The Viking onlookers held their breath. There was less movement than there was at the funeral procession. A number of them still expected to honor the ship they had sunk in Hiccup's name.

When she moved back from the boy and wrapped her nearly dried shawl around him as best she could, Stoick moved towards the witch. "Have you done it?" he asked in a whisper.

"With help from the Gods, your son will live." She said solidly, lifting herself from the rock.

The crowd burst into heartfelt cheers. It was not every day they got to see Death itself stopped cold in its tracks.

Hiccup's eyes fluttered open. The last thing he remembered was being cold and uncomfortable on the rocks of the shore, soaked to the bone, but now he was quite the contrary: Warm and dry and comfortable under the sheets of his own bed.

With effort, he sat up to find his room empty, absently wondering where his father was. When he stood, he felt very out of body. His legs almost weren't willing to carry him where he wanted to go, and he periodically needed to grab onto sturdy, nearby objects for support.

He started the descent into the lower floor of his home, his knees buckling after the first step. Something caught him from the front before he tumbled down the steps – it was his father.

"Easy, son." He said, helping Hiccup down the wooden staircase. "You're not supposed to be up; she'll have both our heads for your wandering around."

Hiccup never had the chance to answer to this; as the door flew open, Mathalda loudly announced her presence.

'What do you think you're doing? Didn't I tell you he needed to rest for at least the first twenty four hours?" Mathalda scolded.

Stoick scowled, lacking explanation or excuse.

"Mathalda?" he beamed, "You're alive?"

"Me? I'm not the one who was within an inch of death." She prodded him lightly on the chest. Shakily, Hiccup sat on a stool, rubbing the spot where she'd prodded him. "Stoick," she said, gently. "Could you give us a moment?"

The man looked like he was going to explode or murder her. But instead, he just turned and shoved his way out of the house.

Hiccup sighed. "I think, once I can stand again without falling, I'm going to lie back down. I don't feel very good."

"Well, there's a good reason for that." Mathalda said, looking him in the eye.

The boy got that same uneasy feeling when she looked at him. Her orange eyes were boring into him again. But… there was something less ferocious about them.

"Your eyes." He said, noticing for the first time how the fiery orange had left them.

"Yes, well, that's what I want to talk about. By any means, you were dead," she told him.

He shuddered. "That's comforting."

"Your heart had stopped and Death was making its way to your feet."

"Can we talk about something else?" he asked, squirming uncomfortably.

"No. It's important that you know this." She said, sternly. "It was the power that was granted to me by the Gods. I used to possess the Dragon's Fire, which allowed me to communicate with and understand the beasts that you Vikings feared the most. It was that very same power, given to me by Loki, which saved your life."

"You mean-"

"I no longer possess it. You do."

Hiccup gave a start. "But what about Razorfang?"

She shook her head. "I have taken care of that poor dragon since he was a hatchling. The Dragon's Fire is a powerful gift, but I'm afraid it's no match for the bond that Razorfang and I have. We will carry on life as usual, if not quieter."

"You won't be able to talk to dragons any more. Will I?"

"Perhaps. I fear that the Dragon's Fire was not meant for you. Who knows how strongly it will affect you, if at all? However, it has done its job. If you rest you should fully recover in the space of a week."

He stood up again, trying to follow her as she made for the door.

"Wait, Mathalda. What about you? And Razorfang, he might get hurt here – the other's can't distinguish between-"

She held a hand up to silence him. "Do not over exert yourself. Do not get too exited. Razorfang will be fine, back on Cannibal Isle."

"I'm sure if we made arrangements with the villagers, he could stay with you."

"He will be with me. I'm to return to my island tomorrow morning."

"You-" Hiccup gasped involuntarily as a sudden movement provoked a sharp pain in his chest. He winced, continuing, "You don't have to go. It's over. Dad let go of his grudge-"

"I do not believe that is true. Perhaps he has forgiven me for allowing your mother, his wife, to leave this Earth. Perhaps, after your accident, he sees I truly do mean well. But I am no more welcomed on Berk now than I have been in thirteen years. They fear me. They've always feared magic, and it is too bred into them to forget it due to my saving one life. Especially after the last thirteen years." She shook her head as Hiccup began to protest. "Do not try to deny that I have committed a crime against the people of Berk."

"Just like how my father was irrational when my mother died, you were left alone to brood over the injustice that we did to you. You had every right to by angry!"

She shook her head. "Were you anyone else, the Dragon's Fire would have remained with me, to be viciously guarded and left to smolder in my soul. But you, my child, are truly different. Perhaps, the Dragon's Fire is where it belongs. I, however, am not."

She pushed open the door. "Take care." She said gently. It was the same tone he'd heard her first speak with, when she showed herself in the forest on Cannibal Isle.

He watched her as she made her way back to the docks, with Razorfang swooping high above her in the sky and calling down to her, expecting a response that would never come.


	7. Coming Soon!

People would talk about the miracle that took place on Berk for the rest of Viking Time. It was the talk of the village, for quite a while, and Hiccup was happy when all the commotion died down to the point where he could step out of his own hut and not be swarmed by a number of Viking, all asking him absurd questions in rapid succession. Asking what it felt like to have died, what Valhalla was like, if he'd met Odin or reunited with his mother…

But no one asked about Hiccup's new power. Plainly put, no one _knew_ about it. Mathalda hadn't told anybody else before she left and Hiccup, small and largely unimportant, did not want to bring any more attention to himself. Over the years, Hiccup had perfected the art of fading into the background. It wasn't hard – at least not to Hiccup. You see, he really _was_ a small and largely unimportant boy. He had an almost entirely unmemorable face, a very slight frame for a Viking, and he was very, very ordinary. So ordinary, in fact, that one might not believe that Hiccup is the _hero_ of this story. He wasn't at all what one would expect a hero to look like. Even his hair, which was a mousey brown and fell in lank curtains around his face, was unheroic, which he noted as he pushed it unceremoniously from his face as he ran.

The village was under siege – one massive Dragon was rampaging through the village.

The boy ducked as the building behind him collapsed in on itself. There was a horrible roar as he skidded to a halt, and over the burning building clambered a _great orange_ _Monstrous Nightmare._

* * *

><p>Don't miss Hiccup's NEXT adventure! <em>The Dragon's Fire: Inferno Curse<em> premiers... whenever I can finish typing it out of my notebook...

-Tibby D.


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